Boudin Sausage made by Rene Louapre. Photo by Renee Bienvenu.

The heart of boudin country lies two hours west of New Orleans in the flatlands surrounding Lafayette. There, boudin is nearly as omnipresent at a gas station as lottery tickets and cold beer. Make it a habit when traveling to towns like Mowata or Scott to keep an ice chest in the back of your car, and your freezer will always have links of boudin ready for an omelet or to be grilled and placed inside of French bread. Boudin in New Orleans is still a recent phenomenon, though, exploding with the recent wave of chefs looking to hone their charcuterie skills as much as their knives.

It was into this fascination with boudin that the Emeril Lagasse Foundation waded, staging on a Friday night in November what had to be the largest and most wide-ranging collection of boudin ever attempted. The aptly named Boudin & Beer used the power of the two eponymous markers to raise money for a variety of programs run by the Lagasse Foundation, including sizeable investments in a culinary program at NOCCA. Boudin & Beer preceded Carnivale du Vin, a Bacchanalian display of culinary extravagance which took place the following evening, also to raise money for the Lagasse Foundation.

Boudin, like any great dish, is one that showcases the personality of the cook more than anything else. (See also: red beans, roast chicken, gumbo, et al.) Do they like things spicy or do they prefer to let the liver shine through? Are they a fan of smoking the boudin or letting it crisp on a grill? Is the meat coarsely chopped or finely ground?

At Boudin & Beer, there were creamy tamales stuffed with boudin and perked up with fiery red chili sauce from Aaron Burgau of Patois fame. An Italian offering of boudin came from Alon Shaya of Domenica, which, save for the risotto used, was rooted in ingredients common to South Louisiana. With its duck liver and streaks of pig skin, it could have passed muster at any hunting camp. There was traditional boudin from Donald Link and Company, blood-rich boudin noirs from Mario Batali, an antelope sausage topped with Grand Marnier-soaked onions from Commander’s Palace, and an Asian broth with shrimp sausage and rice noodles from MiLa. More than 20 chefs each put their mark on boudin with very solid results.

If I made boudin, what would it say about me?

Which is how a month before Boudin & Beer, my wife came home to find 30 pounds of frozen pork liver defrosting in the fridge. On the counter stood an industrial meat grinder, six pounds of pork shoulder, seven cups of uncooked rice, onions, and other seasonings. Soon the house would be filled with a heady aroma of cooking pig parts, cayenne, and the unmistakable smell of fluffy cooked rice. There were pots and pans everywhere, an LSU game on the radio, and cold beer at the ready.

After simmering for about three of those beers, the liver, onions, celery, peppers, and pork shoulder ran through the coarse dye of the meat grinder. This mealy mixture then combined with the rice and some of the stock it had cooked in to create boudin. The hardest part was stuffing the boudin in the paper-thin casing. The casings first needed to be threaded onto an extruder, a plastic tube jutting out from the business end of the grinder. After much swearing and tearing of the casings, stuffing commenced. Soon, through the extruder flowed a creamy blend of Cajun staples—pork, rice, and seasonings. Once complete, some of the casings simmered in water before getting slathered with mustard. Others went onto the smoker. A few segments were simply split open and their contents fried up in some butter—my favorite way to eat boudin.

My boudin turned out softer than I would have liked, its texture hovering somewhere between pudding and baby food. I should have used less stock or more rice. It could have been saltier, but the heat level was right on point, the result of using jalapenos in place of green peppers. At Boudin & Beer, I recounted the process and recipes used to Link, who would simply respond with a piercing glance and say, “Why the hell did you deviate from my recipe? That recipe was tested eight times, more than any other in my book. That was all your fault, rookie.”

I can only hope to repeat that same advice to someone else in the near future.